The Accidental Saint of the Kingdom

Chapter 8: The False King's Gambit

The heavy oak doors of the royal bedchamber clicked shut, leaving Rhovek alone with the man who claimed to be his monarch. The room was unnaturally cold, smelling of crushed lavender and a sharp, stinging scent of ozone that prickled the back of Rhovek’s throat.

The King sat at his mahogany desk, quill in hand, his posture eerily perfect. He did not look up.

"You have a habit of wandering, Minister," the King said, his voice smooth, devoid of any genuine inflection. "The palace is a labyrinth for those who do not belong in its corridors."

Rhovek took a measured step into the room, his hand instinctively straying toward his waist where a concealed dagger sat. "I was just looking for a bit of air. This place gets stuffy, don't you think?"

"Stuffy?" The King finally looked up. His eyes were like polished glass, reflecting the candlelight without a flicker of life behind them. "It is the seat of power. Power is often heavy."

Rhovek felt his body surge with the need to kneel, to bow, to offer some courtly platitude, but he fought it, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the desk. "Right. Power. I have a fair bit of it myself now, don't I? Minister of Security. It has a nice ring to it."

"It has responsibilities," the King replied, laying down his quill.

"Yeah, that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about," Rhovek said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur. "Look, we’re both businessmen, aren't we? I know you’re not him. The real King wouldn't spend his nights staring at blank parchment."

The King tilted his head, his movement jerky, like a marionette on poorly tensioned strings. "You are an observant man, Dalmarys. It is unfortunate."

Rhovek chuckled, a jagged, nervous sound. "Unfortunate? I’m the best asset you’ve got. I can keep the city running, keep the taxes flowing, and make sure no one looks too closely at your little masquerade. But it’s going to cost you."

"Cost me?" The King stood up. He was taller than Rhovek remembered. "I am the Crown. I have no price."

"Everything has a price, pal," Rhovek said, leaning over the desk. "I want full access to the royal archives, a permanent immunity from the city watch, and a nice, quiet villa in the countryside when this is all over. You give me that, and I keep your secret. We play nice, the kingdom stays whole, and you get to keep playing pretend."

"You want to extort a shadow?" the King asked, his face hardening into something predatory.

Rhovek felt his lungs tighten. The air in the room seemed to vibrate. "I want to survive. I don't care who wears the crown as long as I’m the one holding the purse strings."

"You are a creature of the gutter," the King said, his voice rising in volume. "You think you can negotiate with a force you do not understand?"

Rhovek opened his mouth to retort, to tell the thing in front of him exactly where it could stick its royal authority, but his body snatched control. He stumbled forward, his right hand slamming onto the desk with a force that cracked the wood.

"You are a fraud!" his voice bellowed, the words booming with a tone of righteous, uncontrollable fury. "I will not let you destroy this kingdom for your own twisted ends! Guards! Guards!"

Rhovek’s eyes widened in horror. "No! What are you doing? Shut up!"

"The truth is out, monster!" his body roared again, ignoring his internal screams.

"You fool," the King hissed, his face twisting into a mask of pure, demonic spite. "You have no idea what you’ve invited into this house."

Suddenly, the floor beneath them shuddered. A low, resonant boom echoed from the direction of the city gates, shaking the heavy drapes and causing the crystal chandelier overhead to sway violently.

"What was that?" Rhovek gasped, fighting his own limbs as they drew his sword.

"That," the King said, a thin, cruel smile spreading across his face, "is the end of your tenure."

The room’s windows exploded inward, showering the bedchamber in jagged shards of glass. A horn blasted in the distance, deep and mournful, sounding like the death knell of the city.

Rhovek sprinted to the window, his body moving with a lethal, fluid grace that infuriated him. He looked down into the courtyard. The palace walls were illuminated by the orange flicker of thousands of torches. Below, a massive army had swarmed the inner perimeter, their ranks thick and disorganized, bristling with pikes and scavenged armor.

"An army?" Rhovek muttered, his hand still gripped tightly to his sword. "Who dares siege the capital?"

"The dispossessed," the King whispered, appearing right behind him. "The ones you neglected. The ones you left to rot in the Silt while you played at being a hero."

"I was helping them!" Rhovek snarled, finally managing to wrestle his body back under his own command. He spun around, pointing his blade at the King. "I gave them tax breaks! I fed them!"

"You gave them hope," the King countered. "And hope is a dangerous thing to arm."

The door to the chamber flew off its hinges. Kervos rushed in, his face covered in soot, his cloak shredded.

"Rhovek! We’ve got a problem," Kervos gasped, eyes wide. "A massive one."

"Tell me about it," Rhovek snapped, gesturing to the window. "Who is leading them?"

Kervos blinked, looking at his leader with a mixture of terror and confusion. "That’s the thing, My Lord. You’re not going to believe it."

"Tell me!"

"It’s the Razor Gang," Kervos said, breathless. "Harl. He’s leading them. He’s screaming that the Minister of Security—you—called for a revolution. He says the palace is empty and the gold is ours for the taking."

Rhovek felt the blood drain from his face. "My own henchmen?"

"They think you’re in on it!" Kervos shouted as a flaming arrow whistled through the broken window, embedding itself in the wall behind them. "They think you’re the one who opened the gates for them!"

Rhovek looked from Kervos to the fake King. The imposter was laughing, a dry, hollow sound that echoed through the room.

"You have been hoisted by your own petard, Minister," the King said. "The people love you. They follow you. And now, they have come to take what you promised them."

"I didn't promise them a coup!" Rhovek shouted at the ceiling. "I wanted to be a rich, retired government official!"

"Plans change," the King remarked, stepping toward the door. "Good luck with your constituents."

The imposter turned and vanished into the shadows of the hallway, leaving Rhovek standing in the middle of a burning room, his sword in his hand and his reputation in tatters.

"Rhovek, we have to move!" Kervos yelled, grabbing his shoulder. "The inner gate is buckling. Harl is at the front door. He’s calling your name!"

Rhovek walked to the broken window, looking down at the sea of desperate, angry faces. He saw Harl, his old rival, raising a stolen spear high into the air, his voice echoing up to the balcony.

"For the Silt! For Dalmarys!" the mob roared in unison.

Rhovek felt his heart hammer against his ribs. He was supposed to be the defender of the palace, yet here he was, the unintentional leader of the army that was about to burn it to the ground.

"If I go down there," Rhovek said, his voice cold and analytical, "they’ll expect me to lead them."

"And if you don't?" Kervos asked, his voice shaking.

Rhovek looked at the gold-filigreed throne room beyond the hallway, then back at the chaos in the courtyard. He realized that the gold was no longer the goal. Survival was the only prize left.

"Then I’ll be the first person they hang," Rhovek muttered. He sheathed his sword and smoothed his tunic, his body instantly shifting into that infuriatingly noble, confident posture once more. "Kervos, get your gear. We aren't going to hide."

"We aren't?"

Rhovek walked toward the door, his steps steady and commanding. "If they want a leader, I’ll give them one. We’re going to march down there, take command of that riot, and turn it into an orderly plunder. If I have to lose the palace, I’m going to make sure I’m the one directing where the furniture goes."

"You’re going to lead a siege against yourself?" Kervos asked, a manic grin beginning to spread across his face.

"I’m going to perform the greatest heist of my life," Rhovek said, his eyes burning with a dark, familiar hunger. "I’m going to steal the capital city right out from under the nose of that fake King."

As they stepped out into the smoke-filled hallway, the sound of the gates crashing open vibrated through the stone floor. Rhovek didn't feel like a hero or a saint. He felt like a thief who had just realized that the entire kingdom was his to pillage, provided he could survive the night.

"Let’s go, Kervos," he said, stepping over a fallen tapestry. "We have a kingdom to dismantle."